🗡 THE SON OF A TYRANT 🗡

"Maks." She greeted him, stepping towards him. "I hope those bidding on your date are acceptable."

"You have a way with that mouth of yours..." silent challenge, as he flickers his gaze to her own for a moment. Damn it, she looked good.

The irony in their friendship....whatever they fucking were — had always been the palpable difference in their natures: Maksim, the stoic creature who clung to the corners until it was time to erupt; and she, the fire sprite, taking center stage to bring forth what he always needed. a distraction from the bottom-feeders. Isla was like sunshine to Maksim, in an off-handed kind of way. She was fire and ice and all things fucking nice. But she also brought a calm chaoticness he so often lacked.

But their label? Unknown. Had either asked? No.

"...I never said that," but he didn't elaborate. Wasn't sure he wanted to open up this conversation right here, right now. What was it? Were they even anything, or simply...fun. It'd been like this for so long, it had grown into their day to day...but it wasn't...anything? Ugh, it was complicated.

"Do I have competition, Isla?" Maksim wasn't stupid, knew her well enough now. And knew that her ex-boyfriend was somewhere in this room. Waiting to be bid on. His jaw clenched, he hummed quietly.

"I didn't say I'd have to cut her," Isla shrugged rather nonchalantly... She hadn't - not explicitly at least. "I'm just saying, whoever she is better count her damn fingertips, before and after your date."

At the comment about her own attire, she couldn't help a derisive snort into her glass. Sexy is overrated. Not that he would ever have to worry about it. Gianna quirked an eyebrow, giving his outfit a quick once-over--he would appreciate the attention, no doubt--before shaking her head.

Though, his brow rose exponentially, as he waved his hand over the outline of her costume. "Tell me summat', did you pick the Cheeto so people would stay away, or because you finally decided to dress like the kind of mess you leave behind?" he raised his hands mockingly. "Either way, Gianna… it suits you."

Though, his expression soured just as quickly.

"Careful," It's low, but edged with a joking tone. Though in truth it held none. "Start talkin' bout' my sister, and you might not like where the conversation goes — and neither will I." She was pretty. But there were some lines Maksim never crossed. Vika was one of them. His brow arched. "I don't know what she came as, but something akin to the female version of Negan would be far better suited to her." A bat-wielding maniac? Either her or fucking Oliver Parra.

"The idea of being a Cheeto was that people wouldn't be able to get close enough to me to talk..."

Unfortunate, then, that her plan seemed to be failing spectacularly. The woman was positioned near the bar--close enough to obtain all the sambuca she needed to stay somewhat sane--looking out across the steadily growing crowd. It made her uneasy. They always did, these days. When she took note of the person beside her, she shot them a sideways glance to acknowledge the proximity she could have done without.

"Aren't Hallowe'en costumes supposed to be sexy? What are you, anyway?"

But when had Maksim ever been good at following the right path? Do the thing that his father was most likely internally begging for. "Sexy's overrated, y'know," the ghost of a smirk tugged, as he disguised it behind the rim of his glass. "Not a fan of the fang thing — think it's a bit tacky, so I went with this...far scarier." sexier too some women might say, but not all. "And what are you meant to be exactly? A Cheeto? Nothing says 'do not approach' like processed corn and an unhealthy mixture of bloody artificial cheese."